The Winds of Change
by Shasta O'Reilly
Summary: Brenna O'Reilly knows what a hard life is. Forced to immigrate to America from her hometown in Ireland to New York by her parents, she has to face lifes hardships, joys and challenges. Will she find happiness in being a newsie? Or is something else in h
1. Prologue

Prologue

Prologue

"Time changes everyone whether they like it or not." My best friend once told me this yet I laughed it off, saying only you could make changes in your life. I was wrong. Time does change people, it has changed me. I've grown up a lot in the past eight years, to the point where I'm ready to leave the life I built so carefully around me here in America. I'm not sure when it happened, or how, but time has come and changed me and it is written somewhere on the pages of my life.

Eight years ago I was a scared 13 year old immigrant from Dingle Ireland. I had spent a very rough few months on a boat with hundreds of dirty bodies and the crowds on the New York docks did not help to boost my confidence in my new home. Dingle had been a small fishing community, I knew everyone in the town, and I knew all the surrounding roads. Here I knew no one, all the faces unfamiliar and foreign, many different languages streamed through the air and the large buildings seemed to block out the sun. The highest point in Dingle had been the hill overlooking the ocean, but in Manhattan the highest points were the buildings. It was all so new, so dirty, and so exciting to a 13 year old who had rarely been out of her home town, let alone her country. 

I arrived with my mother and pa, and many of my siblings, however, not all. The boat had been a horrible trip filled with sickness and sadness joined hand in hand. Many families lost their loved ones, and for the most part we thought ourselves lucky. Until midway through the trip where we started to loose members of our own large clan. It was emotionally draining and walking off the boat short a few members of our family was a hard one. My siblings were all I had in this new world, and to have a distant older brother, and much younger sisters and brothers made life hard on me. My adolescence was quickly taken away from me, as my childhood had. 

Life offers many surprises, hardships and joys. Mine was full of them and this is my story.


	2. Chapter 1

Prologue

Chapter 1

Our apartment was located on Doughty Street in Brooklyn New York. Pa spent all afternoon talking to people after we got off the boat and finally found us a place to stay in the front rooms of an elderly womans house. She smelled of burnt hair and gasoline from her gas lit stove. She hustled us through the door, turning up her nose at us because we were filthy immigrants. She told us not to make a mess and then with a huff, turned her fat bottom tied up in an apron and nice blue cotton dress out the door and upstairs to her nicer apartment. The apartment was dark, the windows black with smoke, so what little light came in didn't light the two small rooms very well. One room was the kitchen, with one small window looking at a brick wall of another building. It was small and infested with cockroaches and other such pests. The other room was just big enough for all of us to sleep lying side by side, like a bunch of sardines. It was better than being on the filthy boat, with 14 people, including the other family staying with us, in a very small cabin where 4 would share a bed and the floor was home to the others. 11 people walked onto that boat and only 8 people came off it on the other side. 

Pa and Aidan, my eldest brother by two years, went right away to find work. They both got factory jobs at a local meat packing factory. The money there wasn't the greatest, and they came home with hands deep burgundy with pig blood and stinking up the small apartment which already ranked from the 8 bodies living inside it. But it was money, and it paid the rent as my Mother always said, so it kept us kids happy. 

Let me tell you a little about my family. Darcy and Patrick O'Reilly, our parents, were both born and raised in Dingle, Ireland. Pa's family was well off due to the success of his pub, and they managed to survive the potato famine in 1860. They met in the pub when Pa was in his late teens and working in the pub. Ma was the fairest lass in all of Dingle, and many boys were after her. Or so Pa says. They fell in love and got married when they were 20. Aidan was born in 1880, and I, Brenna O'Reilly followed 2 years after. Michael came two years after I, and Christopher just two years after him. Christopher was the favorite out of all my siblings, when I was young I used to love to take care of him as if he were my doll. This doll cooed and cried, and needed changing and washing and feeding. However, when he was two, he died from pneumonia, caught from being out in the rain too long on a cold fall evening. Jack followed quickly on the heels of Christopher's death, Cassandra coming a year afterward Jack's birth. I took to raising Cassie as if she were my own, without the help from my mother. She was mainly locked in her room with Jack while Aidan and I were forced to take the roll of mother to her new daughter who Mother obviously didn't want. 

Yet Mother continued making babies, and sprung out twins when Cassie was a year old. We all thought she'd hole herself up and abandon these two babies to the caretaking of me. It was too much for me and I grew to hate her shortly after she got pregnant. However, a few mornings after they were born, Mother emerged from her bedroom into the kitchen where Michael and I were feeding Cassie. She held both twins in her arms, and Jack, at two, who she had used to kind of replace Christopher, clung closely at his mothers heels. It was the first we had really seen of Jack up till that point, and Michael took a severe disliking to him over the years, since he had been robbed of his playmate Christopher and his mother at such a young age. 

I can still remember that morning. Everything stopped when Mother walked through the door, her hair a little tousled and a small smile on her face as she glanced at her abandoned babies sitting around the kitchen table. Cassie just looked at her like she was a stranger and Michael edged closer to me on the bench. But mother smiled and told us the babies' names were Siobhan and Maria. 

"I guess you want me to take care of them too." I said bitterly, crossing my arms across my chest. Mother was hurt, of course, and shot me an evil glare. 

"No I do not young lady. Don't you ever talk to your mother like that again."At the raise in pitch of her voice, Cassie began to cry, she had rarely ever cried before, but mother picked up those natural instincts of hers and rushed over to see if her 'baby' was all right. Scared Cassie even more and sent her into a wail that filled the house. 

"What's wrong with her? Isn't she happy to see her own mother?" She asked confused, setting one of the twins that I figured was named Maria on the table to try to pick up Cassandra. 

I shot her a glance, how could she have been so ignorant? "She doesn't know who you are Mama." Mother arm shot back, and she gave a look of horror.

"Not know who I am? I'm her mother, the first thing she saw when she was born!"

"No that would have been Pa's, you sent her out of the room as soon as she was delivered remember?" Mother was getting angry at my tone but I didn't really care. I was angry that she could just waltz out of her room like that and expect everything to be normal and the way it was before. 

Mother sat in silence, rocking her newborn baby on her lap. "Jacky, darling, come and sit with Mama." After a pause she gave me a stern look. "She knows who I am Brenna Catherine. You just have been feeding her stories to make her forget about me." The anger kept boiling up inside me, I couldn't believe I was hearing this! After a year of not helping take care of Cassie and rejecting her as one of her own, she's going to tell me what Cassie knows.

"Mama?"

"Yes?" Mother answered at the sound of Cassie's small voice.

"Who's that lady?" Cassie with her large blue eyes asked me, pointing a small finger at Mother, who burst out crying. Not only did her child not know who she was, but she was also calling her eldest daughter 'mama.'

It's memories like that that flare up my temper at my mother, and at Jack who had had a childhood unlike any of the other children who had to raise the others and deal with the hardships in life. Siobhan and Maria proved to be an eye opener for mother and she eventually became part of her children's lives. However, Pa began to drink heavily, and gamble. If it wasn't one parent it was the other causing our family grief. 

The twins were 2 years old when mother got pregnant again and Pa's gambling became a real problem. It first started out with some money missing from the barrel of grain in the back pantry. Then a cow disappeared and some sheep. Soon land was being gambled off in plots, my mother helpless. She locked him in the basement when she could but he would find ways to avoid her throughout the day so she couldn't throw him into a closet or the basement where she could lock him in for the whole night. Francis was born in this chaos and my mother hated my father for little Francis. She fought good and hard, crying every night to her baby who wouldn't have a good meal in him. To this day little Francis is, well, tiny. 

Pa had gambled away most of the land by that time and we were poor. Dirt poor and Mother was getting desperate. She couldn't feed all the mouths, and the older children always got shorted out on food and clothing. At the height of Mother and Pa's fighting, Mother got pregnant again. When she found out she went in a rage and hurled most of the pottery in the cabinets at my father, each one smashing against the wall beside and above him. I guess he figured he better shape up and make some money if he was going to be able to support another mouth. The baby would surely starve if born into their position, with no money coming in for food or clothing. So he went to work as a handy man in town and had made enough money so by the time Jude was born, he could afford to get her food to fill her hungry mouth. 

How'd we get money to travel the seas to get to America? Through unfortunate means I suppose. Grandpa Mickey died, leaving his fortunes, small as they were, to father, which were just enough for tickets for the boat and with the selling of his fathers house and the house of his own, he could afford an apartment and some new clothes for the children. And that's how we got here, by climbing aboard a boat to go to a world very different from our own. Time was quick, but it did its job in changing and hardening each and every one of our large family.


	3. Chapter 2

Prologue

Chapter 2

We rarely see Aidan and Pa anymore, they leave the house before most of us are awake and come home late at night, worn out by the days labor. Most of the children, including me, are getting restless sitting inside the apartment all day. Sometimes Mother takes the younger children to the market with her, otherwise we're confined to the sidewalk outside the building, which is nothing like the large backyard we once had. I miss Ireland a lot these days, and have taken to wandering the busy streets of Brooklyn. There are so many people here from all different countries. A few buildings down is another large Irish family, the Moriarty's, who came six months ago. They have a boy my age and sometimes I go down to the market with him to look for a job. Mother doesn't think I should be working yet, but I'm 13 and I've seen much younger boys and girls going to the factories, selling fruits or fish on the street and selling newspapers down on the corner of every street. It's a different world out here and I want to be part of it. 

****

It's a Saturday which means Mother goes to market in the morning with Siobhan and Jack. I have to stay and watch over Francis and Jude, who are both being fussy about taking their naps. 

"No nap." Francis shakes his head defiantly from his small bed on the floor. It's been impossible to get the children to actually do anything I ask them as of lately, they've been making friends with the other children in the building and always want to play with their toys since toys are lacking in our family. "Me play."Francis smiles his toothy grin and attempts to get up out of his bed.

"Oh no you don't!" I push him down and cover him in the blanket, even though the temperature in the room is well above 90 It is only early summer, but already Brooklyn is boiling. After a few struggles, with me winning, I finally get the two babies into their beds snug and sound. It's quiet now, well as quiet as New York is going to get I found. There's always someone shouting, a baby crying and someone fighting in a neighboring room. All that was background noise now. Inside our own little space it was quiet. Its been 3 weeks since we arrived at Ellis Island, walked through immigrations and onto the streets of our new life. 

We have a fire escape out the kitchen window and I often climb out there to look at the stars, or watch people walking by, but mainly to escape the chaos of my family. Mother is worried constantly that one of us is going to get sick. The loss of some of her children has driven her into a corner and she can't seem to get out of it. She took to compulsively cleaning the apartment though, so its all she does besides food shop. She robotically sweeps, scrubs and moves furniture around to get it how she wants it. It's a constant battle to make her stop, the place shines, but without Pa around, she goes into her own world which includes feeing her children, worrying over them and cleaning the house. I suppose it's all she has left.

An old man lives above us. His cigarette ashes fall down onto our landing where he has a small folding chair. You can hear him out there at night, scraping his chair and mumbling to himself about some long lost son or something. He doesn't come out much during the day, he can't take the heat I'm guessing, so I'm out here on the fire escape by myself. The neighbors have hung all their laundry out the window and it blocks my few of the alley beyond. The alley is filled with trash and waste, and stray cats and barking dogs frequent it. They're not down there now, but the stench is. Jack is always trying to convince Mother that we should take in some of those stray cats, but she is strongly against it. Thinks they'll bring in flees and cause the rest of us to get sick. I wish she would stop worrying, she washes the pans over and over again and makes sure the fruit is from the best market in town so it isn't spoiled, even if it does cost her more. 

Mother says the cost of our lives is to great to risk on spoiled fruit. I suppose she could be right. 


	4. Chapter 3

Prologue

Chapter 3.

Aidan has decided to move out, since we are running out of room and it would be cheaper for him. With him gone I'm now the oldest and the responsibility is weighing down my shoulders. Aidan still gives some of his earnings to the family, but they are small and we need full wages going towards the family. I started looking for a job and found one working at a fruit stand on the corner of York Street and Front Street. I sell apples, bananas and other exotic fruits, most I've never even tasted before. It's a dull job, makes little to nothing, but I'm out on my own and I don't have to babysit for any of the younger children. This little job at the fruit stand is my taste of freedom, my taste of independence. The taste goes sour though once I arrive home.

Pa has been in a foul disposition for the past 2 months, moaning and groaning about his job, his pay (or lack of) and how badly the boss treats his employees. Mother believes he's been drinking again at one of the bars because sometimes not a full paycheck will come home, or he'll arrive home at 2:30 in the morning banging doors and cursing at the neighbors cat, Priscilla. 

"Sure sign he's dealing with that damn devil again." I can hear Mother cursing as she goes around the house cleaning, making sure there's not one dust bunny gracing the floorboards. Even the windows are cleaned from all the soot, which I find amazing. The few of the brick building isn't the best, but Mother hides it well with her latest purchase: pale blue curtains that rest dantily on the windowsill. It was her treat to herself, it being her birthday and all. Pa managed to come home at a decent hour and have dinner with her for her birthday, but we could sense he was only half there. Aidan also came, bringing her nice fresh flowers from a local stand. I thought about getting a second job selling flowers, wandering the streets selling pretty roses. Instead I have fruit. Barrels full of fruit.

I guess it could be worse. I could be one of those filthy factory children who have to go to work at 5 in the morning with their mothers at the garment factories. They all look the same; big eyes under filthy skin, blackened by soot and long periods of time without a bath. The newsboys are interesting characters, I sometimes see them when I first start working, shouting out the local tragedy of the day. I don't talk to them though, and they don't talk to me. It must be nice to just sell newspapers. You probably get lots more money.

"Be lucky you'se not one of those filthy street urchins. Those newsboys are all street mongril, the strays, the orphans of the lot. Criminals is what they are. Don't you go messin around with any of those damn newsboys." The old toothless woman who sometimes sits outside our building shelling nuts and watching the passerby's often tells me this as I go off to work in the morning. She must be married to the old man, both smell of cigarette smoke and old age. She says only the same thing, for some reason hating those newsboys. It's just their job I once told her and she scowled a look which made all her wrinkles stand out.

"They wouldn'ta hafta work as damn scummy newsboys if they were smart. Brains you got, but you'se just a fruit seller, get a factory job. More rewardin and respectful…" She'd drone on like this if I stuck around to hear, but I'd say well, ma'am I gotta run to work, can't be late! Bye! And run off down the road. 

Mother hates that I didn't find a job nearer to Doughty street. I'm a few blocks away, but the walk isn't too bad. Some people have to walk across the bridge to get to Manhattan to work in one of the department stores. I would love to work in one of those pretty stores, windows filled with lacy dresses that I could never afford. I often find myself dreaming of that as I stand next to my cart, watching people, making sure they don't steal any of the fruit. Some of the factory children have been known to steal apples and oranges after they get out of the factories for the day. They come towards the end of my work day and my attention isn't that great, but I've caught a few of the thieves and now I know who to watch out for. 

I often would tell the stories of how I caught a thief, or how I served a rich business man from Manhattan. They were always in their smart business suits, and had respectable hair cuts. Nothing like what Pa would ever wear. 

"Aprons are for bloody women." He groaned the first day on the job when he found out he had to wear an apron in the meat packaging factory. He only muttered about it a few more times, but soon went into brooding about how he could have a much better job if we stilled lived in Ireland. Pa hates when I tell the tales of the business men in their suits. His face squints downwards like the old lady on the front stoop and he glances out the window. "Probably nothing better to do than to show off to all the lower class workers out here in Brooklyn. Don't you sell them any of your fruit, they're too good for our fruit. You tell 'em that Brenn." He would shove another forkful of food in his mouth and stomp away from the table, leaving Mother glancing discouraged after him and at the empty plates on the table. 

I would always help Mother in the kitchen, washing the plates and putting everything away. It was always in silence, except for the occasional question about my job and whether I liked it or not. I liked it fine, I'd tell her, and continue scrubbing down the plates. 

"You're a lucky lass. Some people would kill for a good job working at the fruit stand. You be a good worker, make the boss proud so you won't loose your job." Mother nodded, and I realized how old she looked. Had these few months caused her to really age that much?


	5. Chapter 4

Prologue

Chapter 4

"So how much can I get for a penny?" A newsboy had wandered over to my fruit stand and stood eyeing the merchandise with cunning eyes. He held a cane, and I figured if I didn't give him something for a penny, he'd wallop me one with that cane. He glanced up at me, his gray eyes pretty demanding. He was rather short, but I could tell he had quite the attitude. "Well? Cat got yer tongue?" 

I flustered but refused to blush. "A-an apple for a penny's alright." I muttered. 

"Dat's much bettah." He picked up an apple and tossed it into the air catching it and taking a bite. "Heah you are miss. Me names Michael Conlon, call me Spot, you call me Michael and I'll pack you one." And he could too, but his eyes were nice now, smiling almost, even though the smirk on his face wasn't too nice. 

"Spot?" He nodded. What an odd name for a boy. "Alright, I'm Brenna O'Reilly, call me Brenna." We stood eyeing each other and then he spoke again.

"Alright Brenna. Pleasah to meetcha." This small conversation continued for a couple weeks, us talking about the weather, our jobs, and family life. 

"We live in this place called da newsboys lodgin house. No parents, nothing. Just us boys. We'se got some girls too, but not many heah in Brooklyn, more ovah in Manhattan." Spot and I were walking back towards my Doughty Street apartment. We often got off work around the same time in the evening and he had taken to walking around Brooklyn with me. I had met a couple other newsies, as Spot called them, and they seemed friendly enough. They weren't all street trash as the old lady had lovingly dubbed them, however that old lady did not approve of my hanging around with this "Spot Conlon character." She told my Mother about him, telling her he probably had fleas or something, and that made Mother freak out a little, but she gave in to my begging. I had to make friends, otherwise my life in this city would be a bore, she had said. 

The freedom of the newsboys lodging house sounded so nice, not to have to answer to parents, and to be making your own money and paying for lodging. And to meet all those kids your own age who have similar experiences. Spot's family was Irish as well, and we often talked about our fathers' alcohol abuse. His father worked in a big factory as well, and the stress of it, Spot thought, drove him to spend every night and early morning in the bars. 

"Befoah I became a newsie, we, me bruddahs and I, used ta hafta go get him from da bars. Once we had to coax him from jumpin off da Brooklyn Bridge in da middle of the wintah. Rough shit." He spat on the ground, I normally would get disgusted by this but I had grown used to the roughness and crudeness of the newsies. "But we'se got used ta it. Me little bruddah Ryan has ta take care of him now. I'm outta the house fer good now, nevah goin back." We had reached the beginning of my block and he would continue down the road to the lodging house, and I would turn down Doughty and go home. How I wished at that moment that I could go with Spot down to the lodging house and hang out with the boys. His stories were so fascinating, all the poker games with Manhattan and the slingshot contests they held on the bridge. 

"Come down to da docks whenevah you get a chance Brenn, and I'se can show ya how to shoot Brooklyn style." He gave me his usual smirk, which I came to realize was as close to a smile as I was gonna get. 

*****

Aidan came home for church on Sunday morning, looking all prim and proper in his new suit. It was used he told us, but the man kept it in real good shape and he got it for a good price. It's always nice to have him around the house. Being the oldest is hard, he says, but its worse without him being there. Worse without Michael. Michael was just a couple years behind me, and in a way we were the closest having our childhood ripped away from us at such a young age. We always shared that bond, of knowing how hard life can be and how unfair as well. Unfair it definitely is. Michael was taken from us on the boat and buried away at sea. I can't even go visit his gravesite when I want to. 

Church was the same old same old, and now I'm back out on the fire escape. It's always the quietest on Sunday morning, and I notice I've got company. The old man from the floor above is out on his folding chair smoking one of his long slim cigarettes and humming some tune I don't recognize. I smile up at him to be nice and he just makes a tight-lipped attempt at a smile. Even Spot's smirk is better than his weak attempt to be kind. We both sit out here in silence, not enjoying each other's company but just accepting it as time wears on. He's managing to get the ashes over the fire escape so they don't land on me, however, which is nice I suppose.

Today I'm thinking a lot about Pa. He's been drinking heavily, I know that for a fact now. His breath wreaks and he's been escorted home by the police twice already. I don't know what to do about him, Mother is insane with worry over her children and now add in her husband, it doesn't make a good combination. She's looking ever more frazzled. Her hair is graying, and the lines are definitely more prominent around her eyes and forehead. Life has been hard on her, and Pa's lapse into alcohol doesn't help her much at all. Aidan told me on the way back from Church that he may be gambling again. Poker, the game Spot talks about him and his pals playing every weekend with his Manhattan buddies. 

"You sure he's into gambling again?" I had asked him

"Pretty sure. People have been talking, and the talk isn't good. We can't afford him to go gambling off all our money. We can't afford it." He sounded worn out, as if the news were affecting him personally. I guess in a way it was since it was his father and he was his father's son. However, he wasn't living with the family anymore, he was providing for himself and not relying on someone else who happens to like the drink and gambling. 

I also want a new job, this newsboy job seems so much more free than living at home. I could support myself! I've met a nine year old who was supporting himself, a 13 year old like me certainly should be able to. I glance up at the old man who has a tired look to him, but there he is puffing away at his cigarette, dealing with his life problems in his own head. His problems couldn't be worse than mine, I think as I climbed back through the window and back into my family life


	6. Chapter 5

Prologue

Chapter 5

It was a Saturday and I didn't have to work because my boss was sick and couldn't open up the fruit stand. Mother and Pa had an argument last night about his drinking and it ended with Pa barging out the door and not coming home. He wasn't home when I left the apartment at 9 this morning and Mother was worrying, as usual. Jude's got a little cold, so Pa's drinking has been taking the backseat to Jude's health. It's just a small baby cold, the old woman on the front stoop says. Today she was peeling corn on the cob. I don't know where she got it, that can be pretty expensive down at the market, or so Mother says. 

I just nod and wave as I wander down the street. I'm going to the docks today to learn how to shoot 'Brooklyn style.' Mother seems happy I have friends, no matter that they don't have any parents or rules like I do. I made my way down Doughty, then Everit then Water street and walked along the Brooklyn Bridge till I reached the docks where I could see dozens of boys in just swimming trunks diving into the water. I saw Spot down at the edge of the dock talking with a taller, older teenager. I headed down towards them, passing a few girls who gave me suspicious looks on the way down. 

"Hey kid, what you doin' down heah. This is Strike's territory, get goin' not allowed heah." One of the girls shouted after me but I kept going. Spot nodded at my arrival and the older boy turned around and looked up and down my small figure. I was wearing a dress but seemed very out of style here, all the boys and even girls in shirts and trousers. 

"What we got heah Conlon, anothah one of yer recruits? I dun see how she's genna sell wearin' one of dem purdy dresses. What's yer name kid?" He had a rough scratchy voice and squinty eyes. I wondered if he was squinting because of the bright sun or whether he just always squinted, like Spot smirked.

"Brenna O'Reilly, sir" 

"Well ain't that dandy, she called me sir. No need for that Brenna, me names Strike, and I'm the leadah heah in Brooklyn. You'se gonna sell papes wid us?" He had dirty blond hair, I noticed, tucked into his cap. He was tall, maybe around 16 or17 years old and had a muscular build. Like Spot he had a certain look about him that said he could beat the crap out of you if he didn't like you. 

"Sell papes? Like be a newsie? Naw I'm a fruit stand seller." I said looking up at him, having to squint because of the sun. I realized that he squinted on his own, since the sun was behind him. 

"Spot wheah the hell did you find this one if she ain't genna work fer us?" He slapped Spot on the backside of his head. "Girl we ain't got time fer kids who ain't genna help us out, right Spot?" Spot didn't seem too intimidated by Strike but I could see the other newsies being a little scared. 

"She's jist my friend. I was gonna show her how ta shoot a slingshot." Spot answered, thankfully taking my side. Didn't really feel like getting kicked out of the docks just because I wasn't a newsie. Strike eyes narrowed even more (if that was even possible) and took another look at me. 

"Alright. You stay outta trouble ya heah?" He was talking to me and I just nodded. He then took off, newsies parting like the Red Sea for Moses. He had quite the power here I could tell.

"Don't be intimidated by him. If you are, he won't like ya, if you ain't, he'll be yer friend fer life." Spot motioned in Strike's direction. "He's a good leadah though, gets us our pay fair and square. I'se think that he'll be givin me da leadahship when I'se older." He had a proud look to him, he even stood a little taller. 

"Spot Conlon the leader of Brooklyn. Sounds pretty important." I said.

"Yeah, but I'se gotta few and he ain't given up his position fer a while. I think he likes ta be da intimidator. I hope I can have the kind of rep he has." Spot took out his slingshot, the one I always see him with, and started shooting at some of the other newsies. I laughed when one got hit in the ankle and went hopping off squealing in pain. "Why don'tcha become a newsie?" Spot looked over at me handing me the slingshot.

"Well I'se got a job already."

"Sellin fruit? That ain't no job. You wanna bring home more dough to yer family you gotta be a newsie." I took the slingshot and looked at it strangely and Spot just laughed. "Heah, you gotta hold it in yer left hand—you are right handed ain't ya?" I nodded. "And you take dis rock in yer right hand and pull it back in the rubber. Then you aim and let go!" I managed to shoot one of the older newsies, luckily not Strike, but got a good laugh when the guy realized it was a girl who shot him.

"You'se pretty good fer a girl. But I ain't liken to be shot down by a girl." The boy who had to be 15 said wandering up the slop of the beach and climbed on the dock. He had shit brown hair and torn clothing. He was rather good looking but in a rough sort of way, sort of like Strike. Not quite as rough as Strike, but he was getting there if he stayed out in the sun any longer. "What's yer name kid?"

"Brenna."

"Pleased ta meetcha, me names Joker, but you can call me Joker." I smiled at that.

"Sorry about hitting you."

Joker laughed. "Don't fret sweetheaht. Now, please don't be telling me that you'se learnin how to shoot from Spotty heah. He ain't got nothing against me." He snatched the slingshot outta me hand, and I glanced over at Spot. He seemed a little tiffed but acted like he was used to it at the same time.

"Lets see whatcha got on me Jokah." Spot folded his arms across his chest and looked amused at the thought of Joker actually being any better than him. Spot definitely had an ego; that I could tell without anyone saying anything about him. 

Joker took position with the slingshot and aimed first at me, and when I flinched and started to duck away from his aim, he winked and turned it around to one of the younger newsies. "You think I was actually gonna shootcha? Sure you shot me an' all but I ain't dat cruel." Joker aimed and hit the newsie and with a grin, he turned to Spot. "I'se da best at dis Spotty boy. Leave it to the older boys to teach the goils what dey need ta know." He winked at me and handed me back the slingshot. "You need anything that this boy can't give ya, you come straight ta Jokah. I'll take real nice care a ya." He winked again and jumped off the dock into the water. 

Spot was shaking his head. "He thinks too highly of himself. Don't let him get to ya, he's a flirt wid all the goils he meets and he can bait ya faster than a fisherman can get a fish to hook his wormy line."

"He's just being friendly." I said, handing Spot back his slingshot. Spot started to walk away from the docks and I followed along side him. 

"You sure you don't want to be a newsie? We'se got some really nice girls you'd get along wid." I said I'd think about it.


	7. Chapter 6

Prologue

Chapter 6

Everyone was home for dinner, and the house was humming. Pa wasn't drunk, a first time in a while, and he actually stuck around for dessert. Mother was in a better mood, she wasn't sulking and she actually left Aidan and I to do the dishes. Pa and her had decided to take a walk around the block in the last sunlight of the day, and it was good to have them out of the house.

"It's their anniversary you know." Aidan said, putting some pots away in the cupboards. Mother had brought over a few pots and pans and some dishes from Ireland so we could have something to eat on here in this new country. 

"No wonder. Pa isn't drunk and Mother's not too worried about us getting some deadly disease." Aidan gave me a look that said 'why so bitter?' I had a right to be bitter. Did I not have to deal with Mother's worries and naggings? Did I not have to deal with Father coming home every night drunk off his ass, dancing with the coat rack? Aidan had his own small room on Orange Street and didn't have to take care of his younger siblings, one whom is so grief stricken by the loss of her sister, that she sits and rocks in the corner and will only talk to her imaginary friends. 

"I'm sure they're not that bad, Brenna, you always exaggerate." Sometimes I am so glad that he lives on his own. Oh how I wish I could do the same.

"You don't know what it's like here! You've heard the stories of Pa! He's getting worse, he nearly killed the neighbors cat and it looks like we might have to move because he is disturbing the peace!" I threw down the pot I was holding into the sudsy water and stormed out of the room, brushing past Siobhan who was practically sleep walking, with her dazed look on her face and Maria's doll clutched to her chest. 

"Have you seen Maria?" Her voice was as silent as the wind but I heard it. I stopped dead in my tracks. It had been months since Maria's death on the boat, yet Siobhan refused to believe that Maria, her twin, was dead. Or else she just didn't understand the concept of death. 

"Honey, Maria isn't here, she went for a…swim." We sometimes told her this and it would make her feel better, but this time she just looked sadder.

"Maria been gone for a long swim then. She come back soon?" Siobhan's big blue eyes peered hopefully out at me from behind her brown curls. 

"I don't think so, she's got a long swim." She just nodded and walked into the kitchen mumbling something how Maria is a good swimmer and would be back soon. It tore my heart out and I just had to leave. Let Aidan take care of the children for once, I couldn't take being in the house any longer than I had to. 

The old woman was on the stoop again shelling her nuts. She barely glanced up when I walked out and I barely even said hi to her as I went on my way down the street. I heard her mumbling something about my shenanigans with the newsies but I didn't care. I wanted out of my house, and away from my neighborhood. I wandered for what seemed like hours and found myself on Columbia Heights, where the newsboys lodging house was. After some negotiations in my head, I wandered into the lodging house.

It was so loud in the hall, boys of all ages were running up and down the stairs but they all stopped to stare at me when I entered the room. A middle-aged man looked up from his ledgers, glasses perched on his nose, about to fall off. 

"Yes young lady? What can I help you with?" He sounded exsasperated as though he'd been dealing with one too many troublemakers this evening. 

"I, well, I uhh was looking for Spot Conlon." A few snickers were heard and a tall figure which I recognized from the docks made his way down the stairs, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. 

"Strike, put that damn cigarette away. I said no smoking in the house!" The man behind the desk was standing now, looking more worn out than angry. Strike blew smoke towards the man and continued to smoke it. 

"Kid, what the hell you doin heah?" Strike said, walking up to me. Spot had told me not to be intimidated by him, and I tried not to shrink away from his brooding presense but I couldn't help but flinch when I blew smoke in my face.

"Aw, Strike leave da goil alone." A boy around my age, I presumed, said from the banister. He had been watching me since I walked in. He had a baby face but was thin as a bony skeleton. Strike just threw him a look which silenced him.

"Well, kid what you doin? Newsies don't like da uppah class."

"She ain't no uppah class, Strike." This was when I noticed the girls in the room.   
The one who spoke for me had long black hair, a pale face with nice eyes underneath her rugged persona. She eyed me carefully then smiled. "She's jest like us only she ain't no newsie." She crossed the room and stood next to me. "Me names Luna, you call on me if ya ever get buggered by our big bad leader Strike." She smiled sweetly at Strike who only scowled and turned away. "So ya looking for Conlon eh? He's me best friend in dis joint. He's just playin some pokah with the boys. Some from Manhattan even, big event. Whats yer name goil?"

"Brenna O'Reilly. Thanks for sticking up for me." I was impressed, she obviously had some clout with Strike otherwise he would've just thrown her aside. The other boys were starting to wander into another room, where I presumed the poker game was going on. 

"Well, Brenna, how bout we go in and see how bad Brooklyn's beatin' Manhattan." She smiled and winked at the man who was looking relieved that this bicker had been cut short. We walked into the room where there must have been at least 50 newsies sitting in chairs or perched on tables, watching the one table in the middle of the room where Spot and a few other boys sat playing cards. Is this was my Father played while gambling away the land and money? I figured so.

We sat in silence, letting each player take his turn. The players consisted of Joker, who looked actually serious, a shorter Italian, his brow furrowed, and I guessed he wasn't having much luck. I mentioned this to Luna.

"Ha! Race yer pokah face ain't working! Dis heah goil can see straight through ya!" Race just glanced up and frowned at her.

"Dis is me pokah face. I'se doin just fine." He bent his head back down over his cards and straightened out his face. I just giggled.

The next player was another one of the Brooklyn boys, I had only seen him a couple times and I didn't think he cared for me much. He had black hair and I've heard he was called Dash by a couple other boys. The 4th player had his back to me so I really couldn't see his features. He wore a bandana around his neck and had a head of sandy blond hair. A cowboy hat sat perched on the back of the chair. He was called Cowboy by the newsies, he was a Manhattan newsie,but his real name was Francis Sullivan, as Luna explained in a hushed whisper. 

The game ended shortly after, with Joker collecting the winnings and Race barging off muttering how he never wins. These boys were pretty young, maybe a little older than me, but not by much. I was surprised by how much older they seemed than regular kids my age. 

"Hey boys!" Luna jumped up on the poker table to catch everyone's attention. "Dis heah is Brenna, she's a pal of mine and Conlons, so give her a nice welcome." A few hey Brennas headed in my direction and I caught a glimpse of Cowboy's face. A pretty nice face if you ask me, still kind of young looking, but one that would look nice a few years down the line. Everyone started to scatter and Spot came over to Luna and I. 

"What ya doin heah Brenna?" 

"Had to get away from my family so I went walking and ended up here." I shrugged, that was really the only reason, I didn't intentionally head in this direction with the purpose of going to see the newsies.

"Well, now ya get ta see where we'se live. Ain't much but it's a home." Spot shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled.

"Spot don't like dose…what ya call em…sentimentalities." Luna sounded it out and smiled when she got it right. Spot just glared at her and walked out of the room. Luna and I followed shortly after him. "So you'se from Ireland right?" I nodded. "How long you been heah? In New York I mean."

"Four months." Has it really only been four months? It seems like 2 years have gone by since we first landed here. "How'd ya know I was from Ireland?"

"Yer accent silly. Hey I want ya to meet my pal Voodoo." A girl who was reading on the stairs looked up and gave me a nod. "Voodoo this heah is Brenna, she's Irish." Luna seemed to be very proud of that fact.

"Hey Irish." Voodoo gave a word of welcome and went back to her book. Voodoo wasn't the only one to call me Irish, a few other newsies started calling me that as well. I met a few other newsies, some from Brooklyn, others from Manhattan. I was going to leave when I got stopped by a taller version of Cowboy, only he seemed stronger and much older. His blue eyes stood out in contrast with his dark hair but they were friendly. 

"Wheah you goin' all by yerself? I know you ain't livin down in the goils lodgin house, so wheahs you headed?" 

"Back home." 

"Home being…" The guy wasn't going to give up.

"Apartment on Doughty Street. You going to let me go or are you going to make me pay you to let me get out of here?" He laughed at this and stuck out his hand.

"Me names Trick, I'se da leadah of the Manhattan newsies. I heah you'se called Irish?"

"That's just some nickname someone gave me. My name's Brenna." I shook his offered hand. 

"Ya think Trick's me birth name?!" He laughed again, a good heartly laugh and I liked him from that moment on. He seemed so easy going, not quite the intimidator that Strike was. "Me real names Alexander Laramie, but don't ya evah call me that hoity toity name." He looked serious but there was laughter in those clear blue eyes. "Let me walk ya home, it's a dangerous woild out dere and I wouldn't want some goil like you getting hoit." 

So that was that, he walked me home and I discovered how much I really wanted to become a newsie just by talking to this oversized teddy bear who made the life seem so glamorous . But how could I just leave my family and go off to Manhattan? The only way I could become one was to stick around with Strike and the Brooklyn "gang." We're all faced with challenges in life, and I suppose Strike is one of them.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Mother had been furious to learn that I had been in the same room as a poker game, let alone the same house. But her anger was shifted when Pa came home drunk with only his pants on. 

"What happened to your shirt?" Mother screamed at him. This was 2 am and her cries of anger woke up the entire apartment building. That was it, I thought. We'd be kicked out of the building and be forced to move away from this neighborhood. I prayed that night that we wouldn't have to move out of Brooklyn, for I had finally made friends and didn't want to leave them behind. 

We did get kicked out by a furious Mrs. Fredricks who, with cat in hand, shouted blasphemous things at Mother and Father before giving us two hours to pack our stuff up and get out. We were forced to wander the streets with our possessions until the sun came up and people started to move about. After a few hours of searching, we found an apartment on Poplar Street, a few streets down from Doughty, which Mother liked better. The apartment had 3 rooms, which meant we could have a sitting room as well as a bedroom if we so desired. The kitchen was still small, and the rooms smelled of urine but Mother was still in her cleaning glitch and soon had the house spotless and smelling "fresh as a daisy" she called it. Daisies were her favorite flower and she often called me her 'little shasta daisy.' I didn't mind the nickname, as long as only my Mother called me it. 

Pa had to promise not to cause problems and Mother was actually singing in the kitchen when I came back from work, which took a little longer to get to but I didn't mind. I got to see more of Brooklyn and meet more people. There was a little flower shop down on Vine Street and a kind old woman ran it. She would say hi to me by name or by Miss O'Reilly, and often gave me flowers on my way home so Mother could have some pretty things to brighten up our apartment. She was a little blind but she was very generous with her kindness. Once I brought Siobhan with me to work and she gave Siobhan some candy treats for her to eat, and a rose to give to her new friend in the apartment over, Roger, who was just her age. Siobhan had started to talk, and once she had a friend that's all she talked about. 'Roger and I played trucks or Roger showed me how to play piwate.' We were all thrilled that she was talking, and this old woman, her name was Miriam, really brought her out of her shell. Siobhan talked to 'Miss Miriam' about Maria, and she actually came out and said Maria had gotten sick and 'drownded.' 

Siobhan had taken to coming to work a lot, so I would leave early so she could talk to Miriam. Siobhan also talked often of Miss Miriam and how nice she was. Mother liked to hear Siobhan talk, since it reminded her so much of how Maria talked, but Mother became very jealous of Miriam since Miriam was 'taking Siobhan's attention away from' Mother. So she refused to let me take Siobhan to see Miriam, but did I listen to her? Nope. Siobhan gets to see Miriam on my lunch break, but I had to make her promise me she wouldn't speak of Miriam to Mother at home. She didn't, and Mother was pleased at Siobhan's improvement. When Mother was happy, the rest of the house was happy. Pa was being good with drinking and only came home drunk a couple times. That also made things easier around the house. 

Since my family was being much nicer I decided to invite Spot in after one of our walks home. Siobhan was with us, and was thrilled by Spot's slingshot. Spot was amazingly good with her, he'd give her lessons in how to hit Roger with a makeshift slingshot he made her out of a piece of wood that he found on his way to our apartment. He gave her piggy back rides, but only after he got out of the viewing range of the other newsies.

"I gots a reputation to uphold." He smirked, plopping a giggling Siobhan onto his shoulders. We walked like this towards my apartment and he set her down outside the door.

"You want to come inside? You could meet the rest of my family." He glanced around him and thought about it but decided it was alright by him. 

The house was busy, unusually busy, but everything stopped when Spot, hand in hand with Siobhan, and I walked in. Mother looked quizzically at Spot, like he might be the infamous Miriam, and then at me.

"Ma, this is Sp—err Michael Conlon." I said, introducing Spot. I figured Mother wouldn't really like me hanging out with a "Spot." Which was what she called a 'dogs name.' Mother smiled, recognizing his name from my stories. 

"Nice to meet you Michael." She walked over, wearing her apron, which she obviously had been using to clean the house all day, and shook his hand, making sure Siobhan's hand was removed from his. Spot gave her a slight smile and shook her hand. He glanced nervously around the small apartment, but I could tell he was impressed, even if he would probably never admit to it. 

Jack came running in from the kitchen to see the new visitor, with Francis toddling behind him. Francis went all shy, as he usually did when strangers were present, and hid in Mother's skirts. But Jack was one of the bolder children. He walked up to Spot, looked him over and grinned. Spot smirked back.

"What's yer name kid?" Spot leaned over to Jack's height.

"Jack Lawrence O'Reilly. He talks funny Mama." Jack turned around, his nose scrunched up like Spot stunk of some sewer rat. 

"Now Jack, remember your manners. It's not nice to say mean things like that to our guest. He probably thinks _we_ talk funny, love." She bent down and pinched Jack's cheek and this made him scowl even worse. He turned back around and looked over Spot again. His eyes lit up at the sight of Spot's slingshot thought.

"What's that?" He pointed to the slingshot on Spot's hip. Spot glanced down, and retrieved it from his belt.

"This heah is a slingshot. Ya gotta protect yaself out dere on the streets." Jack was now intrigued. The older boy had a toy and Jack liked toys. Mother did not approve of Jack playing with such a toy when he asked and Jack went huffing back to the kitchen. 

"I didn't like that slingshoot anyway." He was heard muttering as he walked away. Francis peeked his head out from behind Mother's legs when Spot laughed. I was surprised by Spot's laugh, considering I hadn't heard it much before.

"It ain't gonna cause nobody no harm Ma'am. And who's dis little boy?" Spot pointed at Francis who immediately burst out in a fit of giggles and wrapped himself even tighter into Mother's skirts. I laughed. Francis was such a happy go lucky child, even with all the things he has to put up with. 

"That's Francis. He's shy and doesn't want to meet my new friend." I said, knowing that if I told everyone that he wouldn't do something, he would do it. 

"Well that's jes too bad, I guess I'll go now…" Spot took my lead and took a step backwards towards the door. As soon as Spot said this, out popped Francis. 

"I wanna meet Bwenn's fwiend." He stuck his thumb in his mouth and smiled up at Spot. "I'm Fwancis." He hasn't mastered saying the 'r's yet, so everything comes out sounding a little funny.

"Hi Francis, I'm Michael but you can call me Spot." I glanced at Mother, but she was beaming. She obviously liked having her children cooed over by a friend of mine. Probably because Spot looked too rough to have a kind heart. It wasn't a side usually shown to the newsies, and I knew if I ever mentioned this to them, he'd hog tie me and hang me off the bridge. 

"Spot funny." His grin widened and he poked Spot in the nose. "I like Spot. Mommy can we keep him?" Everyone burst out laughing, including Francis. He plopped on the floor and just looked up at everyone, smiling a toothy grin, well as toothy as a two year old's smile can be. 

"Well my little shasta daisy, I'm glad you have found yourself a friend. Nice to meet you Michael, I have to get started with the dinner. Bless you." Mother smiled and left the room. Spot nodded and gave her a quick smile, something not many people had ever seen before either. Then he looked over at me.

"Shasta daisy?"

"Yeah it's a type of flower. My mama's favorite." Spot looked like he was in thought and then just smiled.

"I think I've found you a name." He just smirked and said he had better go. He waved goodbye and that was that.

Integrating friends and family is always an interesting experience, and I knew it had gone well. Maybe convincing Mother that I could be a newsie would be easier now that she saw what they were like.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Spot had stopped by a few other times, but life continued on as it usually did. I was still at the fruit stand, having not yet convinced my family that I should be a newsie instead of just a fruit seller. 

It was a Monday, and towards the end of my day, I was feeling a little tired. There were the usual kids around, so I didn't notice the girl standing off to the side. The other kids looked greedily at the fruit in front of them, wishing I wasn't watching, wishing me to turn my back to them so they could feed their hungry bellies. I was watching one certain boy who was edging closer to the oranges when I caught sight of the blond haired girl who I had never seen before. She was right there with the apples and before I knew it, had snatched up an apple. She had her blond hair tucked into a bun and looked half starved. I was going to let her off the hook, but the cops also saw this and took off chasing after her. The other children watched in amazement as the girl was chased after, dropping her apple and disappeared into the depths of Brooklyn. 

The others slowly wandered off, realizing I wouldn't let them get away with taking some fruit. I closed up shop, not seeing Spot around, so I headed towards my street by myself. I wondered what had happened to that girl as I walked by the multitudes of buildings. The crowds of people were waning but there were still enough to cause the noise to echo off the buildings. What a life this was, I thought to myself as I turned down Poplar, where everything seemed peaceful and quiet.

****

We went to Aidan's on the first cold day of the year. He had gotten a new apartment out in Queens so it was quite the hike over. It was a rather nice apartment, maybe even better than our apartment on Poplar. We had managed to stay there for quite some time, even with Pa drinking heavily again. Mother was considering letting me be a newsie, but no final word yet on that one. I had been hanging more and more at the lodging house and she was convinced I had started gambling like my father, even though I hadn't lost or won anything, but that didn't matter as far as she was concerned. I wasn't gambling, often times when I was there, there wasn't even a game going on. Often times we would just sit out on the roof and watch the stars and talk about things. 

"We'se been havin problems with this Italian gang a little east of heah." Strike and I were on pretty good terms, I realized he wasn't as scary as his berth, it was just his attitude and you had to be mean right back to get on the same level as him. "They'se causin a little bit of trouble, and its gettin hardah to keep track of em." He took a drag of his cigarette, which was a prominent part of his presense I noticed since seeing him the first night at the lodging house.

"We'll fight em if we hafta, but I ain't causin no trouble wid dem now. Most of us are too young ta fight." Braker, young himself, said. This was more like a meeting than just a hang out. I was sitting with the girls listening to the boys discuss this latest problem. Sometimes we'd throw our own two cents in, but normally we just kept our mouths shut. 

"No fighting, not yet." Spot said, smoking a cigarette himself.

"Why the hell not Conlon? They'se gonna think we're babies since we ain't fightin em." Dash, who was always ready for a fight, even with all the girls, said, punching the air. We didn't get along, Dash and I. He thought I was a stupid rich bitch who had no friends so she had to stick it up with the newsies to make sure she feels all important. That didn't get on my good side so the dislikement went right back at him. 

"If we fight, den we'se get ourselves in some deep shit." Spot said. "And I dun want to get in any more shit than I hafta."

"And dat's why Conlon will be takin ovah my place when I go." Strike's word was always the last, and Dash squirmed but he wouldn't fight back. He knew if he wanted a fight, he'd get one from Strike and Strike would deck him one quicker than he knew what was going on. "No fighting. Period." He stood up and the meeting was over. He left the scene but the rest of the boys stayed behind, either to complain or just to chat. 

Joker approached us girls and winked at me. "So when ya gonna join da newsies and be me goil?" He nudged me with his elbow.

"Never Joker, just for the reason to stay away from you!" I always teased him and at this point he'd pretend to cry and then give a big smile. 

"You know you love me, I bet you'se admitted it to all dese goils heah." 

"Yeah, she's jus crazy fer ya Jokah." Voodoo snickered. She and I had started talking and become pretty good friends over the weeks. Luna laughed at her remark.

"Yeah she dreams about ya every night don'tcha Shasta darling?" Spot had told everyone in the house that my name was now Shasta and that anyone calling me otherwise, would be given a soaking. Except for Voodoo who still called me Irish. 

"Oh every night!" I rolled my eyes and we all laughed. Joker tried to look hurt but it didn't work.

It was like this a lot of the times, Joker playing around with my head and us girls abusing him as we went. Dash wanted nothing to do with us, but sometimes Braker or Needles joined us. Needles was a couple years older, and was one of the more dangerous newsies. He was nice enough to us girls but it always seemed forced. As of lately he's gotten a little more hostile and has verbally attacked Voodoo on several occasions. Needles doesn't join us tonight but Braker does. 

"Jokah you ain't harrassin dese goils are ya?" Braker sat down on the ledge and puffed on his cigarette. He had a distant look in his eyes as usual.

"What's on yer mind Brakah?" Luna spoke up.

He shrugged. "Nuttin. Everthin. Some distant relative has decided dey want ta come to New York and get me. I'se don't wanna leave." This often happened to the newsies, as Spot had explained. A lot in the past year had to leave because of family showing up out of the blue to pluck them back to their little clouds in the sky. Some families had money, but a lot didn't, which was why the newsies were here. 'You heah of a lot of stories about these parents who are really rich coming back to their long lost childr'n. Dat nevah happens ta us or anyone we knows of.' Spot once said. The parents of the newsies usually are drunks, lowlifes or poor, and have to have someone to help support them. Others are orphans, but rarely did they have runaways. 

"Where's your family from?" I asked. 

He shrugged again. "I dunno, me parents nevah said where my aunts or uncles lived. Nevah even knew I had em, cept for dis aunt heah in New York who won't even look at me." His parents had died five years earlier in a plague, he was sent to New York to live with an Aunt but the Aunt had refused to take him in since there was no money for her to even survive on so he was forced to get a job and get a place of his own.

We sat in silence, not really knowing how to console him. He obviously didn't want to leave, five years is quite a bit of time to be spent in one place, and you get to know a lot of people that way. 

"I would actually love to go live with family." Voodoo said. Her parents were poor and lived in Harlem, kicking her out of her 11 child family. "But not with my Mother. She hates me." Her Father divorced her Mother and her Mother was stuck raising the 11 children. She grew very bitter and when Voodoo was 8, she was kicked out of her family along with her two older brothers. She rarely saw her brothers, and when she did they were always looking for money. 'They're lowlife dirty scumbags only wantin to see dere sistah fer money.' She often said. 

"Why Voodoo?" I asked, I wanted out of my family, yet she wanted back in.

"I'm sick of being street rubbish."

"You ain't street rubbish." Luna was insulted. Voodoo may be talking about herself, but it applied to all the newsies. "No newsie is street rubbish. We'se workin' jus like the rest of em." Voodoo just scowled.

"I didn't mean you was street rubbish, I'se just sick of bein treated like it. I don't like it, it's almost worse than livin' wid me mum."

Friends will hurt each other without meaning to, but it happens, and that night there was some bitterness hanging around the lodging house when I left.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"When you hawk headlings, you'se gotta project yer voice…make it real loud." I was with Braker and Dash on my first day as being a newsie. Mother had finally given in to my begging and let me work with the newsies, however I still had to live at home. I was ecstatic and the night before I had to go off to the distribution center with Luna, I couldn't sleep a wink. Now was rather tired, but I was determined to scream out those headlines, instead of just squeaking them out. Luna had gone off to sell with Spot and I was just tagging along besides Braker and Dash. Braker was willing to teach me how to sell but Dash wouldn't even speak to me. 

"So you'se a newsie now? Ain't that sinkin down a level fer ya?" He had remarked when I arrived at the distribution center. I was unfortunate enough, however, to get placed with Dash and Braker, and Dash went on and on about how much he hated toting around little girls who didn't know how to take the silver spoon out of my mouth. He was quiet now, but that was because he was 10 feet in front of us. 

"Try again." Braker said, standing back as I yelled out the latest headline. "BROOKLYN BRIDGE DOWN IN FLAMES!" The headline was actually just that there was a small fire at the base of the bridge caused by some homeless man, but Braker said that you had to lie to get people to buy the papers. Four people approached me and bought it. Lying, which was a learned sin in Church, actually did work, people believed me and actually bought the papers, without even checking to see if the headline was right. 

The day went pretty smoothly, despite getting yelled at by Dash and a few customers a couple times, and I got the jist of what being a newsie is really like.

*****

It was our first thanksgiving, and what a cold bitter one that turned out to be. The man downstairs from us was a repair man, but had managed to forget to repair the heating pipes and so for the week before Thanksgiving we had been bundled in our warmest clothing even just to walk around the frigid apartment. It didn't help though, we could still feel the cold bare wood through our socks as we wandered the rooms. It became a dash to find the nearest chair or place above the floor. Sleeping on the floor was horrible in itself, putting your whole body to the test of the ice floor. 

Usually Thanksgiving was spent in happy times, with loads of food to fill our plates, and laughter and merriment alight in our small cottage. We'd have friends over sometimes, as we had last year, but this year was different. We barely had any food, just a small turkey Pa managed to get for us at the market before disappearing for the night down to the bar. Ma had scraped up enough money so we could get some canned cranberry sauce (more like a jelly), some bread for the stuffing, and a couple potatoes which had a dozen eyes which had to be cut out, along with big brown spots. 

Mother sat at the head of the table, where Pa would have sat, and Aidan sat opposite her. Pa was at the bar, too busy to take part in any kind of family festivities, and it was showing on Mother's face. She was upset, but she put on a watery smile for the children and said Grace. 

"Lets go around and tell everyone what we're thankful for." Mother piped up, her voice shaking a little. "We'll start with you Aidan."

Aidan looked down at his plate and glanced around at the waiting faces of his siblings. "Well, I am happy for this food, and that I can spend the day with my family, and for my apartment." He shrugged, hoping this was the right thing to say. We went down the line, Jack saying he's thankful for the food, although muttering that he liked Thanksgiving much better last year, Siobhan was thankful for her new friends and that Mama was happy, oh and that the food was "delirious." We all had a good laugh at that one and Mother actually seemed happy. Francis was "fankful that no one sick and no one mean and food is very yummy to my tummy." He had a giggling fit and, being contagious as laughs are, everyone joined in. Jude just gurgled and smiled and threw stuffing at Francis, and then it was my turn. I said the usual, thanks for the food, and for our health, but I'm very thankful for my friends and my job, no matter how many times I got yelled at. Mother smiled at us all, and started to eat. We all ate silently, picking at the food until it was all gone so we could please mother. 

"I'll do the dishes Ma, you just go kick back your feet and relax." It had been a hard day for Mother, dealing with Pa leaving, and cooking to make everything perfect for us. Aidan took over the role of doing dishes and I cleaned off the table. It was not the best dinner but it was more than we had had for months. Everyone had a smile on their face, even Mother. I doubt she was missing Pa at that moment. 

Around 10 o'clock everyone was getting ready for bed. I had a busy selling day the next day, and then I had to run into Manhattan before dinner to talk to some of the boys over there. I was putting Francis back in bed, and Mother was sitting watching everyone sleeping. Suddenly you could hear Pa, banging his way through the apartment, hollering for Mother to open the fucking door. I glanced at Mother who's face was calm, but a deadly calm. If Pa was lucky, he'd live to see another day. He started to bang on the door and Mother just sat there. 

I had seen this before in her. Back in Ireland, when he started gambling off land, she would lock him in the basement and sit in the chair in the kitchen with a smug, yet somehow evil look, on her face and just sit there all day, listening to his cries. He couldn't gamble when he was in there, but this was different. He could still drink and gamble if we left him out there, but he also couldn't destroy something coming inside. He couldn't destroy Thanksgiving for us, and I could see this written her face. But he still pounded and the children started to stir. Finally, when Jack got up and told everyone he was going to let Papa in, Mother stood up, sat him down very quickly and went to the door.

He came in like a hurricane, screaming obscenities and charging past Mother. She just stood back and looked coolly after him. I could tell what was going to come next. Pa was lucky he didn't go into the kitchen, otherwise Mother would have grabbed a pan or some other object and hit him over the head with it and dragged him to a bed to pass out on for the night. But he didn't make a wise decision when he decided to walk into the room where all the children slept. 

"Where's your Papa's big welcome? It's bloody thanksgiving and I don't get one hug from my children! Get up you mangly muts!" He howled at the room, making us all sit straight up, terrified. Siobhan moved quickly backwards and ended up at my feet and soon up in my arms. Jude started to wail and Francis was confused. In combination with their sleepy haze and the dark, they didn't recognize this strange shouting man as their father. 

Mother was close behind him at this point when he leaned over Jude to pick her up. She indeed had a pan, the largest in the house, and hit him hard over the head while dragging him off so he wouldn't fall near the children. At that point most of the children had realized this was their father and gaped at Mother as she dragged the now unconscious man off into the other room. Mother soon emerged and sat down, her face flushed, looking very old. She didn't want to do it, but she was protecting her children.

That was only the beginning of our problems with Pa's drinking. They only got worse.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 9

Chapter 10 

It was a Sunday afternoon and I was sitting on the front stoop of the lodging house. The leaves on the sparce trees were turning wonderful shades of gold, orange and flaming red, my first fall in my life. Ireland . 

"Heh, Irish you just bout match those damn trees now." Voodoo had commented on one of the days I went selling with her. We all had laughed, even Dash, who rarely laughed at anything. 

There was a chill in the air on this Sunday, but the chill was warmed by the screaming shouts of all the boys down in the street, where they were putting on their weekly baseball game. I had started coming to them last week, and really enjoyed it. I had never seen a baseball game before coming to New York, I hadn't even heard of it until recently when my friends started talking about a game with the Harlem newsies. They had asked if I wanted to play, but considering I can't throw farther than a few feet in front of me, they asked me to exit the game. I like it much better sitting on the sidelines anyway.

Brick, a boy about 14 with dark red hair like mine, was up at bat, chattering at the pitcher, Dash, to stop daydreaming about the fat lady in the apartment next to the house, and throw the ball. A ball was hit, more shouting was heard as Kicks, the youngest newsie at 6, went off to retrieve the ball from the gutter. 

"Come on Kicks! Get the ball heah! Hurray! He's roundin second! KICKS!" A boy I didn't recognize shouted impatiently after the little boy with the blond mop on his head. He came running back, a grin on his face, and threw it as hard as he could to Spot who had to run towards the ball when it just landed and came to a dead stop. Brick made it to home plate and his team was given another point. Strike and I were in charge of the score and I made a mark with the chalk we had found in the basement of the house on the stone stairs. 

"Shas, who's winnin?" Brick called, loud enough for everyone to hear him. He was bragging because he knew his team was winning 6-3. 

"You are, Brick." He held up his hands, fell to his knees and did some kind of victory dance. 

"Get yer ass up Brick. It's only the fifth inning, we can come back." Spot yelled from the outfield. He hated show offs, and Brick could easily get on his nerves I found out. Brick got up but put on a pout and went to sit on the sidewalk with the rest of his team while Flash stepped up to bat. 

"So why aren't you playing Strike?" I figured I might as well try conversation with our leader since we were both sitting on the stairs.

He shrugged. "I dunno. I'se not very good."

"Have you tried?"

"Once." A few minutes of silence on our part was shared as we watched the Flash dance around first base. Flash was a good dancer, I had challenged him to a dance competition the other night at the house, and he impressed me with his step. I wasn't that good at dancing, not as good as most, but I knew some Irish steps which my mother had tried to teach me. I'm pretty stubborn, as she says, and I didn't really want to learn anymore. Which is true, I didn't want to do anything I didn't have to, and dancing wasn't something that was critical for my life. Now everything's changed, and I'm trying to get rid of that mind set.

"A few years ago I got caught in a jam." Strike spoke up, almost in a whisper so that the others couldn't hear. "You'se gotta tell no one, and I know you won't, so that's why I'se telling you." I nodded, Strike was a very secretive person, and wouldn't really talk about anything personal to anyone. He most talked to Voodoo, but rarely to me. I found this to be a landmark occasion so I was sure to listen. "You'se proved yerself to be a pretty trustworthy people, but you'se got a mouth from heah to the Bronx. So no woids. None." I nodded in agreement again. 

"My lips are sealed." 

"Alright, they bettah be." He looked around at the baseball game, and the crowd gathering alongside the sidewalk. A ball was hit to the 'outfield,' as they called it, and the crowd cheered. Joker had hit that ball and was marching around the bases. He had scored a homerun and so I marked it down. "So a few years ago I got in a little jam. It was before I was leadah heah, Clatch was the leadah then, and I was new. A few of the boys didn't like me, so one day after I was done sellin, they approached me. Basically cornahed me in an alley and beat the shit out of me. Gave me a real good soakin. Broke my arm, dislocated my collah bone, gave me a welt on my head the size of a baseball and broke a few toes. Dey came at me wid clubs and big metal things from the factory. I had ta learn real quick to defend myself and I developed a pretty tough image of myself. It worked, I nevah was messed with again, except for a few times wheah someone wanted to duel, but I'se got a pretty rough rep."

I laughed, I knew it wasn't funny but it was true. "You scared me half to death the first time I met you on the docks. You definitely have that rough appearance to you. You and Spot both. Both of you look like you could beat the shit out of someone without even blinking twice." He smirked at that.

"Conlon will make a good leadah. He learned from me to be mean and rough to people. And you'se done pretty well yourself. I admire people who can stick up for themselves and you'se doin real good. Dash can give people problems, it seems especially you, but you're takin it well. But watch your mouth. It can get you into trouble." He warned, looking dead serious. But of course he always looked serious. 'Joking is for a clown, and if you want to be a clown, Joker, than go join the fuckin circus.' He once told Joker after one foul joke after another. 

"I've been a gossiper my whole life. I can't help it."

"Well try. I don't want any of my newsies to get in shit around heah. And not in any of the othah burroughs neither. Harlem's a tough bunch, and we'se always have problems with them mishearin things. I mean it, no talking shit about Dash, or about anything. You could get Dash killed, or yerself for that matter. Dash could put up a good fight, but you'se a smallfry and wouldn't last a round wid them. Dey're big boys, you'se be careful." We sat in silence after that, soaking in what he just said, and watching the teams fight back and forth over bad calls. Cheat was the umpire, and well as his name suggests, he's a cheat and I wasn't surprised to find out he was accused of calling Dash out when he was perfectly safe. I don't know why Cheat was put in charge of umpiring the game, but he managed to weasel his way in. 

It was resolved and Dash was put back on first base. Dash's team had caught up with Brick's and Dash was the breaking run.

"If he gets this run, they win the game." 

"How do you know when they're going to win?" I asked him.

"It's the tenth inning right now, there's only 9 innings but you can't end the game tied. So if Dash goes home, the game is won." 

The crowd was larger now, I noticed. Dozens of kids watched eagerly, and men and women alike were perched on the fire escapes. It was like the Brooklyn Dodgers were making a special appearance in the streets of New York, but it was just a bunch of street kids playing a bit of a game of ball. Spot was up to bat and their was electricity in the air watching him. With the crack of the bat he drove the ball down the street sending Needles running full speed down the road. Dash went sprinting around the bases and got to home. A cheer rose, and shuddered off the buildings. Strike made the final mark and we clapped.

"Dash is a real nice boy once you get past his layers. He may not be nice to you, but he'll stick up for ya if you ever get in a jam. Don't let him get to ya, that's all he wants is someone to pick on, and the next new girl or boy, he'll be on their case too." Strike said his final words, and stood up and walked into the house. "Good game." I heard him say as he lit up his cigarette and left the scene.

I began to respect Strike more after that conversation, I guess you can't judge people before you get to know them, and why they're like they are. 

****

"Hey Irish, someone's heah to see you." Voodoo called from downstairs. I was up on the roof stargazing with Luna and Flash. By now I was used to being called Shasta, or Irish. Before it would take the newsies quite a bit of time to get my attention but now it came as second nature to respond to those nicknames. I climbed in through the window and down through the bunk room. When I reached the lobby I saw Jack standing in the middle, looking scared through. He was shaking and his eyes pleaded with me to get him out of here.

"Jack, what is it?" I knelt down to his level.

"Papa's real sick, Mommy needs you to come home." He said in spurts and looked anxiously towards the door. How he could have found me was beyond my knowledge. Strike was watching me from across the room, as was Dash. They had questioning looks in their eyes about the strange small boy in front of me. 

"Alright, lets go. Hey Voodoo! I have to go back home for something, tell everyone I say bye!" I grabbed Jack's hand and walked quickly towards Poplar Street. 

When I walked into the apartment I could tell something was wrong. Pa wasn't sick, but drunk, and he had made a big mess of things. The beds were strewn all along the floor in a misshapen pile and books were tossed off of their place on the mantle. I didn't see any of the children in the house, probably because Mother had sent them out to a friends or neighbors. I could hear Pa yelling from behind a closed door, screaming profanities. Mother was in the kitchen with a cup of tea, looking about 25 years older, her hair flying about her head in disarray like someone had taken their hand and shuffled it through her hair. Jude was sitting in her high chair, silent with a scared look on her face. Francis was sitting next to Mother's chair and I wondered what in the world could have happened. 

Mother looked up when I entered, her tired eyes had been crying and were red around the edges.

"What happened? Did Pa hurt anyone?" Jack was behind me, casting fearful glances at the closed door behind us which was locked. Mother held the key.

"No, he didn't hurt anyone. I sent all the children to the Jackson's upstairs except for these two. Pa scared them half to death he did. I managed to get him locked in the sitting room, but I sent for you just in case I couldn't get in there." She paused for a second, and then drew in a shaky breath and let it out again. "He came home half an hour ago very drunk, and he started just destroying everything. Picked Siobhan right up and I thought he was going to throw her out a window or something. Poor lass, scared off her buttons. 

"I sent the kids away, but he was furious. He was the worst I've ever seen him. I can take the gambling, ANYTHING but not him being like this! I never would have dreamed my husband could turn into a scary monster as he has gotten with this drink. What is it with American ale? Does it make the men all violent and the likes?" She shook her head and rested it in her hand. "I don't know what to do Brenn. Sorry for breaking up your little party." I didn't know what to say, I had seen Pa the other day, but I couldn't imagine that it would get as bad as he'd get violent. But from the pounds and yellings from the next room, I knew it had gotten much worse. 

"I can't keep sending my babies to some other mother to take care of. She'll get suspicious that not everything is right here. That their father is a bloody alcoholic!" She started to cry. I wish I could have helped her, but I was afraid that it would just make her worse. So I just stood there, watching the scene in front of me. I hated my Father more than anything at that point. How could he be so thoughtless? Our money was low, I had to give all my earnings to mother and Pa wasted most of his on liquor. 

A drunk man always gets sober but the damage he does on a family will always remain. 


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The cops began to know me by name, stopping by the lodging house, or local selling spot to tell me I had to go pick my Father up from one of the bars because he was too drunk and causing a scene. My hatred slowly grew into a loathing that couldn't be cooled with ice water poured over my flaming head. I was stressed about what my Father was doing to my family, and it showed in my work. I didn't sell as many papers, and all I wanted to do was curl up on a bench and sleep away the day. I barely got any sleep throughout the night, having to deal with father's rantings and ravings. I sat up late into the night with Mother in the kitchen, drinking countless cups of tea in silence. Sometimes Mother would tell me a story about when her and Pa first met, about Aidan when he was little and about what funny things I did as a baby. I enjoyed listening to her talk of happier times, it made the situation not seem so bad, but it made Mother sad sometimes. Especially when she talked of the house in Ireland and all the land we owned. 

"Do you remember those cliffs?" She often acted as though we had left 10 years ago instead of just 7 months ago. But it did feel like 10 years at times, especially now. Pa had changed a lot in those 7 months, becoming a full out alcoholic from just a gambler. "Those hills, such rich green velvet! How'd I love to smell the clean country air, and see trees! Big lush ones in the middle of fields! And the grass! Oh how I wish to feel it underneath my bare feet. Now you might as well die before walking barefoot even in your own house. And what kind of house is this? We have neighbors through a wall and dirty as sin. I can't keep up with the cleaning!" 

She would always end with complaints, but that was all we could do, complain about our situation because we had nothing good to talk about. Sometimes I had a good day at work, but mother didn't want to hear that. She didn't have the luxury of leaving the house and get away from the family to work on her own. Sometimes she would apologize for making me go get Pa from the bars, but it wasn't necessary. She couldn't be asked to leave her babies behind and go get him. Someone had to take care of the young children and by the time I got home from selling, it would be too late and Pa would be at the jailhouse. 

"Maybe we should just let him go to jail." I mentioned to her one night.

"And have to pay to get him out? We're poor Brenna! Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not Ma, just let him staythe night and let him get out on his own, we won't pay for anything. He'll have to wake up in a jail cell and maybe he'll realize what he's doing is wrong." So we didn't go pick him up from the bar the next night, and he went to jail. Stayed the whole night and into the morning, so drunk was he. He came home furious.

"You left me in a bloody jail?! WHAT KIND OF FAMILY IS THIS? I married a trash of a woman who can't even help out her husband! And what did she produce? A brood of bitches who can't help their poor old father. You two EVER do that again I'll wring your fucking NECKS!" Was he still drunk? Why did they let him out? Mother looked so depressed at that moment, but her spirit had yet to be broken. She straightened out her back at the terror of a man in front of her, who had a wrinkled shirt which smelled of vomit, a head of tousled hair, and eyes that burned like the devil. 

"How DARE you come home after being ARRESTED and yell at ME! What did I do wrong?I was not the idiot with a pea brain who got so drunk that he had to be carted off in a police cart to the jailhouse! If you didn't get drunk, WE WOULDN'T HAVE TO GET YOU SO YOU WOULDN'T BE ARRESTED!" She threw up her hands, her eyes just as fiery as his, and walked out of the room. He stood shooting fire balls out his eyes at her, but he had been defeated by his own wife. And that was apparent in the hang of his shoulders and the twist of his mouth. His 'trashy wife' had gotten the last word in this fight and he had lost. He opened and closed his fist a couple times, glared at me and stormed out of the house. 

For the first time in years, I respected my mother. She may be aging and poor, married to an alcoholic but she still had her dignity and her spirit. And I wanted to be just like her one day, to be able to stand up to a man twice my size and beat them down with my words.

*******

The newsies were in trouble. Strike had warned us that we might have a confrontation with the Italian gang again, but we hadn't guessed on it being as soon as it came. 

They were at the distribution center when we got there. I had walked down from Poplar with Spot, Strike, Luna and Dash, and everything had been pretty uneventful. I doubt they were waiting for us, just looking for trouble, as Strike would have said. There were about 5 of them, and several of us. Braker, Joker, Voodoo, Cheat and Loco soon joined us, outnumbering them by four. Yet all we had for weapons was Spot's cane, and they had malots, batons, and other such weapons.

"What do you want Tony?" Strike stepped up, confronting one of the members who I guessed was a leader of some sort. 

"We requested a meetin' with ya yesterday and you never showed." Tony stepped forward, banging his baton on his open palm. 

"And I tell myself when I want ta do somethin', and meetin with you wasn't on me agenda." Strike crossed his arms over his chest and stood his ground. He wasn't going to fight, I knew that, unless Tony attacked him. "Get you and your boys out of my territory and we won't have any problems."

"First you listen to what I gots ta say." Tony stepped closer to Strike who kept his ground. 

"Why should I listen to ya? I'se listenin to what Vinnie gots ta say, not his little bruddah." Strike glared at him, his eyes practically sending out daggers. I prayed that no fights would break out, however some of the newsies felt differently. "So I suggest you and your little friends get the hell outta heah and leave us be." 

Tony snarled at Strike, waved his stick, and with a wave of his arm, left with the other four. "We'll be back Strike, we'll be back." He shouted over his shoulder as he disappeared down the road.

"We'se coulda taken em!" Dash jumped around the space where Tony and his friends once were. "Pow pow!" he punched the air, stopping in front of Strike. "Come on Strike, let us fight em!"

"No fighting." Strike was a good few inches taller than Dash, and looked down at him very seriously. There was no way around Strike when you think about it. What he says goes, and if you disobey orders, you would never be seen in Brooklyn again. "UNLESS they start beatin on us. Is that clear?" He wasn't only addressing Dash, he sweeped his eyes over the crowd of newsies now gathered outside the distribution center. "No fighting,none, unless they start the trouble with us! If I hear about any trouble caused by one of my guys, there will be hell to pay." 

"Jeez, he sounds like he's addressin his troops before they go off ta war!" Joker whispered in my ear, laughing. It brought a smile to my face but I quickly hid it, afraid that General Strike would hunt me down and make me do pushups. 

We all bought our usual amount of papers, and headed off to sell. "Watch out today fellahs, we may still be in fer some trouble with Tony and his gang." Strike yelled out as we dispersed on our routes. I was with Needles and Brick for this outing, my first time out with Needles. 

"This is fucked up. Not allowed to fight? He's a dictatah that's what he is…rulin us like we're jus little ants." Needles just sighed. He reminded me a lot of Dash, except Needles had a nice streak to him. We continued to sell in silence, Brick constantly on the lookout for members of the gang. He was so busy looking for them that he almost missed Voodoo running at us, screaming about some fight. 

"Guys, guys come quick!" She was terribly out of breath, her selling route far from where we were, and from guessing, she ran the whole way. "Guys, they attacked us. It was five of dem and 3 of us and dey got Jokah bad. Hurry!" She took off running and after a few seconds, we joined her trying not to loose sight of her as she ran. 

We arrived at the scene in the alley where Joker lay on the ground with Braker bent beside him in pretty rough condition. 

"It was like they were waitin fer us. They just sprung out at us and dragged us in heah, I escaped to go get help but they beat on Jokah real bad." Voodoo's words mixed together as she hurried to get them out. Cheat, Spot, Luna and Dash were close behind us and we all just stared in shock at the sight of Joker. He was badly bruised on his arms and legs, and had a gash over his shoulder which tore through the clothes. He had several cuts on his face and his hands were bloody from fighting. Spot was the first to react and told everyone to help get him up, we had to carry him back to the lodging house. Luna, Voodoo, Braker and I helped carry him while the others kept the lookout for the gang, just waiting to catch us off guard. 

Joker was surprisingly heavy and by the time we got to the house, most of the good selling times were over. But that day no one else would sell, for fear more attacks would come. I stayed as late as I could, helping take care of Joker and Braker after the doctor left. Strike had found us about an hour after we got into the house, and lectured us about watching out for ourselves. But you could tell under his face of anger, that he was worried and concerned for his fellow companions.Pretty soon everyone was gathered back at the lodging house, where we remained throughout the evening. 

Flash walked me home that evening under a cloudy sky. The first snow would fall that evening, but snow wasn't the only thing lingering above our heads that night. The threat that our little universe could possibly get shattered by a gang of ruthless boys fresh in the neighborhood hung over us thick as fog and no one wanted it to be true.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

It has been two days since I went to work. It's been two days since Father was sober and it's been two days more than I can take. The snow has added to my cabin fever, but the fact that I could be out selling or being at the lodging house or just away from my father is driving me insane. 

Father ended up in jail again, and once again we left him there. He got released and headed home, but said he got sidetracked by a friend and ended up back at the bar. He headed for home at three in the afternoon, stopping off at the liquor store to pick up even more alcohol. I came home from working that day by myself instead of going to the lodging house and getting one of the boys to come back with me, so when I arrived at the house, I was relieved in a way that no one had come. Pa was sitting in the living room in one of the beat up cushioned chairs spouting off a version of "Molly Malone" that was very unrecognizable. 

Once I entered he smiled a big smile and came over and gave me a hug. Mother was seated in the kitchen and all you could hear was. "Patrick if you're not back in that chair in the next two seconds I'm whipping you within an inch of your life." Pa pouted and walked over to the chair and sat down in a huff. Mother was treating him as a bad child, and I figured it was working quite well. I went into the kitchen where Mother was and sat down with her. And she told me the story of what happened. 

We sat there until 11, when he finally fell asleep. Of course he woke up as soon as we fell asleep and continued to drink so by the time four am arrived, he was drunker than ever and telling all the children night time stories so they would "go back to sleep" since he woke them up in his fumbling around the room.Mother, very tired and very angry, stormed into the room and dragged Pa out by his ear to the chair. She was like a drill sergeant and demanded to know where he was hiding his drink. 

"Ah think thah mouse tookith." He giggled a bubbly giggle and looked slyly out the corner of his eye at Mother. Luckily he was a happy drunk tonight, instead of an angry violent one as he had been in the past. He began to tell jokes at Mother and I as we sat across from him, like he was in the bar or something. Sometimes he made us laugh, but we were more annoyed than anything. The next morning came and Mother asked me not to go to work, which I knew would piss Strike off, but Pa was still drunk and she couldn't handle him and 5 other children all on her own. So I went into the kitchen and made breakfast for everyone. 

Pa was kept in the other room, away from the children and the daily hubbub of the house. Mother put Jude into my arms, and Francis attached to my hand, and sent me off to market to get a few things for the week with the small allowance that we had coming in. As I left I heard Pa arguing that he could indeed work today, he wasn't that drunk.

The roads to market were on the newsies routes but I didn't see any yet. They probably would make it down here later in the morning after they covered the business districts. I made my way slowly down the busy streets, wanting to run into someone and not wanting to get home any faster. But time flew as I packed up vegetables, grains to make bread and some fruit that wasn't bruised. I realized how hard my mom's job was when she had to keep track of the two youngest children, Jude now a year old and wanting to walk all over the market and Francis who wanted to eat everything in sight, and carry a heavy bag of food home. I managed not to lose either of them, and managed not to see any of my friends either. 

I spent the rest of the day in shifts with Mother. We both watched over him and while one watched, the other would sleep. Mother was sleeping later that afternoon and I was watching, when Pa got his opportunity to drink again. A loud wail rose up from the next room and, seeing that Pa had his eyes closed, I went to see what was wrong. Francis had fallen and bumped his head on one of the kitchen chairs and so, after some soothing words and walking him back into the other room where his brothers and sisters were, I was able to go back to watching over Father. He was awake, with a smug look on his face. He hiccupped once and grinned a wet grin. 

When he spoke, he was obviously more drunk than before and I realized he had snuck some more of the drink while I was out of the room. I groaned and sat down watching him look around the room like a man with a quarter of a brain. He started talking about one of his friends down at the factory, and I only half listened. Soon Mother was in the room and let me go take a nap or do whatever I wanted to do. 

It has been two days of the same thing, sitting with Father, trying to keep him from sneaking more drinks while we go take care of the children or we get something to eat. He's pretty good at pretending to be asleep and soon we just didn't get up anymore. Often I would be awake when mother was watching him so I would take care of the children and get her food or drink. But Pa is still drunk, and we don't know what do to. Mother thinks that he should pass out eventually and when he does we should tear apart the room trying to find his source. But Pa has done everything in his power not to pass out while we're awake and he's starting to droop. 

This is the third day of this, and I'm getting sick and tired of it. I almost came close to giving him a good yelling but Mother stopped me. "We have to keep him happy so he doesn't turn foul and disturb everyone and get us kicked out." She warned me in the kitchen over supper. He was singing some bar tunes at this point and we could see him from where we were sitting so he didn't dare open up his liquor while we were watching. A knock was heard at our door and Mother groaned. "Its sure to be the landlord telling us to knock of this blasted noise or we'll get the boot." It was the last thing we needed.

But instead of it being the landlord, it was Spot. And Strike. Strike stayed in the hallway, but Spot came in. 

"Wheah you been?" He said, taking me aside from my family. 

"I've been stuck here. I meant to tell you guys but I couldn't leave. Pa's been really drunk and he has alcohol here in the house, I can't leave Ma here by herself with all the little ones and him. He'd go wild." Spot shook his head. 

"Come on out heah, we'se gotta talk." I glanced at mother who nodded at me and I followed him outside. Strike was standing there, looking as mad as I've ever seen him. "Do ya know how worried we'se been about you?" Spot glared at me. "We'se had a few more fights with that gang, one shortly aftah you left the othah day. We'se thought you was taken by them when you didn't come in and when you didn't tell no one wheah you were."

"I'm sorry Spot, I told you I couldn't get out of here to tell anyone. We've had major problems with my Father…" At that point my Father, drunk as can be, stumbled out the door, Mother close behind him yelling at him to get back inside and to leave me alone. 

"Who is this Brenna? One of your boyfriends?" His words slurred but he had that fire in his eyes, that violent fire that came only when he was drunk. We had been lucky before, but something had sparked it deep inside him. 

"No Pa, this is Spot, my friend from work. He was just checking up and me and all."

"Don't give me that bullshit young lady! Haven't I told you you are not allowed to see any boys?" He cast his wicked gaze over at Spot, missing Strike who I'm sure Pa would have loved to have seen. "So boy, you knocked her up? What you want from me girl?" Spot looked nervously at me, I didn't know what to do. But I had to stop him, otherwise he'd say something he really didn't mean.

Spot cleared his voice and looked up at my father, with a courage I'd have guessed he had lost. "No sir, I am just friends with your daughter and I'm not about to go knock her up—"

Pa hit Spot hard across the face. Both Strike, Mother and I leaped like a cat at my Father, holding him back. Strike stopped, realizing this wasn't his place, and Spot just stood there, a little shocked, his pride a little hurt, but he didn't confront my father like most would if they got hit by someone. 

"I didn't touch your daughter," Spot said, seeing that Pa was held back properly enough that he wasn't going to lunge again at him. " and I wouldn't think about touching her." With that Spot just looked at me, shrugged and left, Strike following. Strike made a motion to meet him outside and I silently acknowledged it. 

Mother and I managed to get Pa inside and sitting. I left Mother with him, who yelled at him for making a fool out of himself in front of my poor friend. I poked my head out the front of the building, and saw Spot and Strike sitting on the stairs. I sat down next to them.

"I'm sorry guys for making you worry…" I tried to apologize but was ripped apart by Strike.

"We'se thought you were dead. We dun even know what we thought. Dash thought he had heard ya spreadin rumahs and that the gang had gotten wind and taken ya away. That bettah not be true Shasta. I told ya ta watch yer mouth—." 

"You know she wouldn't tawk shit about the gang wheah othah's could heah her. She ain't stupid Strike." Spot was a good friend, but I didn't even bother protesting Strike's words until he was done speaking.

"Conlon, did I ask fer yer opinion? No! I'se just tellin her whats been goin on. Anyways, I don't think it was yer mouth cause I woulda hoid something on the streets. But do you know how much shit we coulda gotten in if we hadn'ta come heah? We'se were gonna go attack the gang tomorrah if you weren't back. And fer nothing! You was heah all along! At home safe and sound with good old daddy—." I spoke up this time.

"My so called 'good old daddy' happens to be drunk. Did you not see him? This is what I hafta put up with! Fer two days I had to deal with this! Why don't you come in and see how many siblings I have? Would you like to take care of them while I work and Mother stays home to cook dinner and make sure he doesn't wander off somewhere? You could have come sooner to check on me, you could have sent someone on their route over to my place. And why would you attack them over one newsie? I'm not vital to your existence!"

Strike interrupted me, fire in his eyes. He didn't like to be yelled at unless it was from someone in the same station as him. "Not vital? You ain't a huge part of newsies no! I could fire you right now and wouldn't miss ya company one bit! No one would! We'se get on…but the fact dat the gang mighta took ya is diff'rent! They woulda been invading our territory and kidnappin ain't a small issue. If dey touched one of me newsies, I'd give em hell, as I've been with Jokah and Flash—."

"Flash? What happened to Flash?" A lot apparently had been happening while I was away.

"Flash got knocked around a bit by the gang yesterday. He's got a broken arm, nose and his toes are broken too. Dey caught up with him right outside the lodgin house and gave him a whipping. All by hisself too, 4 against one. They're getting close ta home Shasta, this ain't no laughin matter." Spot said, he was upset, as was Strike, but I was upset too. Not only that Strike was giving me some lecture about how being at work was more important than looking after your own family, but that my friends were getting hurt and I couldn't do much about it because I was a girl. Strike wouldn't let the girls fight, even if we had the physical strength to help them out. 

"Who's laughing?" I asked, an edge to my voice. "It's not my fault they're moving in on us and beating us up. If I could stop it I would! Don't you think that?" Strike studied me for a little while then spoke. 

"I know you'd help us if necessary but you ain't fighting. End of story. Luna and Voodoo want to, and I told them the same thing I'm telling you. None of me goils are fighting and getting hurt. They're bigger than you—."

"Some of them are my own size if not smaller! I grew up with an older brother, I know how to hold my own!" 

"I'm sure you could, but not under me. Maybe under Trick, but I ain't Trick, and if ya want to fight, go join Manhattan, I'd be fine with letting you loose." I tightened my lips and looked off into the distance. I had given Strike the respect he deserved, but he still didn't trust me enough, trust that I wouldn't get myself in trouble, and then tell me that I can't fight even if I could help them. And then tell me he doesn't even want me on the work force with him and his newsies. What was I doing with the newsies anyways? If I was of no use to him, then maybe I should just quit. And that's what I told him.

His head darted around to face mine. "You are of use, you've been very helpful to my boys, but you causin trouble, not telling me wheah you'se at, and yer mouth ain't gonna help me in the long run. Watch yourself Brenna O'Reilly, and I'll help you out in a jam, I promise ya that. You goin ta be at woik tomorrah?"

"Yeah, we confiscated his alcohol source today and he'll be sent back to work tomorrow. So I'll see you guys tomorrow." We all stood up, looking up and down the street. "Sorry Spot about my dad hitting you. He doesn't usually act like that."

"It's all right." He rubbed at his bruised cheekbone. "If you see any of the Italian gang around heah you let us know right away. Run, drop everythin ye're doin if ya hafta, and find one of us. We'se gotta figure out wheah they'se hidin out." I nodded and they nodded back at me, leaving me standing outside my apartment building in the dying light. I shivered slightly, having forgotten my jacket. The snow was starting to fall again, and would add another 4 inches before dawn broke. 


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 11

Chapter 13

"I'm sending you'se three to Manhattan for the weekend." Strike was addressing Luna, Voodoo and I. Things with the Italian gang had escalated over the past month and Strike didn't want the girls to get hurt since they had been taunting us. 

"Aw no ya ain't Strike! I can fight bettah than most you'se guys! Lemme stay!" Luna whined.

"No! No ifs ands or—." 

"But I have a home to go to! I'm not going to Manhattan." I said, turning around to go home. He caught my wrist.

"OR BUT'S. I don't care. They will find your house and get ya there. I'll have a talk wid yer parents even. You are ALL going to Manhattan to stay with the newsies there. I don't want ta see hide nor tail of ya all weekend, and if I don't see it fit fer you to come home at the end of the weekend, yer stayin there." He crossed his arms over his chest and we were forced to admit defeat. 

"I have to tell my parents, so you're going to have to let me go home…" 

"Alright, Needles, Dash, you're coming with me to Shasta's place to tell her parents wheah shes off ta." The boys groaned but came along anyway.

Pa hadn't gone through another bout like the one he had had earlier in the month and Mother was relieved. I was too, I hadn't missed a day since then and life around the house was more peaceful. So when Strike, Needles and Dash walked through my door I didn't have to worry about my father attacking them and giving them a nice shiner like he had givenSpot for a few days.

They talked it over with my parents, my mother's face growing frightened and Pa just sighing.

Mother pulled me aside. "What kind of business are you getting yourself in? This sounds dangerous to me young lady and I don't like it! I'm letting you go to Manhattan just so you can't get anyone in the family hurt! You watch yourself, if I hear about any more fighting you either leave the newsies or move out!" With that I packed up a few things and disappeared into the night with the boys.

*****

The walk over the Brooklyn Bridge was freezing. The icy wind howled through our jackets and bit at our bare faces. Voodoo didn't even have a jacket so she was borrowing one of the boys' sweaters for the time being. Snow was threatening, as it usually was at this time of the year I figured, but had yet to fall from the sky this week.

"Trick will be waitin fer ya at the other end. He'll take ya to the lodgin house and you'll get some food I suppose. I don't know how they run things in Manhattan." Strike had said before setting us free at the edge of Brooklyn. 

"I don't want to go out heah. We'se don't know anyone." Voodoo whined, clinging tightly to her sweater.

"I could take dem stupid buggahs. And how does Strike know dey don't live in Manhattan?" Luna was very bitter she couldn't fight. She was a rough and tough girl, and didn't like to be told what to do, or held back by the likes of Strike. 

"I guess he just knows these things. I mean Manhattan hasn't been having problems with them. They have to live in Brooklyn." I hoped they lived in Brooklyn, that we weren't walking straight into a trap, because these guys are nothing like my big brother Aidan. They fought hard and weren't going to let you win. But I hoped that they would leave Brooklyn so that I could live in peace and wouldn't be forced to move out of my home. I couldn't leave the newsies, not now. I had made too many friends, and this was my life for now. I didn't care how 'dangerous' it is at this time, it isn't always this bad. At least its better than dealing with father's alcoholism. 

The bridge seemed longer than usual, the wind seemed to rock it back and forth and not many people were out. But we reached the end and there was Trick, wrapped up in an old leather jacket. He waved at us and we did our best to smile against the weather. Snow started to fall again, this time mixed with sleet. The sleet bit through us like needles and made us shiver uncontrollably. 

"Welcome to Manhattan, goils. The lodgin house ain't too far from heah. So we won't freeze fer too long." He grinned, and I remembered how nice he had been to me in the past.I was going to enjoy this weekend, even if my other 2 pals with me from Brooklyn weren't. 

We arrived on the steps of the lodging house and stepped inside. It was nice and toasty warm and we practically melted into the seats in the bench.

"Kloppman, we'se got these three goils stayin with us from Brooklyn." Trick called to the middle aged man behind the desk by the stairs. The house was similar to our own in Brooklyn, but bigger. There were more newsies here, and there was even a separate lodging house for the girls. 

"Just take them over to Julie's place down the street." He barely looked up at us as he continued to look through his ledger.

Trick nodded and asked us if we wanted to go there now or hang out here with the rest of the newsies. We chose to stay and we were lead into a large hall where boys and girls dressed alike were piled over couches and window sills watching the snow fall and playing poker, and just talking. Some people looked up when we entered but most acted as if new people were a normalcy. 

"Everyone this is Luna, Shasta and Voodoo. They're from Brooklyn, treat them nice now ya heah?" With that introduction out of the way he left us standing there, not knowing what to do.

We stood there looking like idiots for some time before one of the girls came over to where we stood. She had red hair like me, only much darker. She was joined by another girl around the same age as us with a head of darker brown hair. 

"Hey goils, I'se Coppah, and dis heah is July. Why'se you heah in Manhattan instead of stayin home in Brooklyn wheah you belong?" Such a nice warm welcome, too. Luna and I exchanged looks and looked back at the two girls who didn't really seem to want us here. 

"We'se in trouble ovah there, not us personally but the whole bunch of newsies. Got some gang on our tail and Strike thinks us safah heah. And dun go givin me no attitude bout how we shouldn't be heah. We dun wanna be heah no more then you want us." Voodoo spoke up. I would have applauded her but I figured now was not the time.

"We'se don't mind that ya heah. Jus dun go around bein all tough and shit. Brooklyn girls and boys are like that." Copper said, a twinkle in her eye. I guess she didn't really mind us, she was trying to be tough like we supposedly were. Brooklyn newsies had that reputation; one of being very rough and tough and mean to handle, but we weren't all that bad. We were just like Manhattan newsies in a way. We just got in more confrontations even though we try to avoid them.

"Speaking of Brooklyn boys, how's Spot Conlon Luna?" The one called July said. I figured they would know who Luna was, her being one of the older newsies by a couple years over me. 

"He's jus fine July. And no he still ain't interested in ya." July frowned at her and headed back to the table of boys she had been sitting with.

"Come on and join us. We'se ain't doin much but chattin." Copper turned and followed July and we just followed not really knowing anyone else.

"You know a few of the Manhattan crowd Luna?" I asked.

"I knows July and a couple of the boys but I don't get ovah heah much, or I try not to anyway." The table of boys greeted us and I recognized Cowboy from the poker game. I had seen him a couple times in Brooklyn since then but we had never really talked. We knew each other by sight and that was good enough for me. 

We sat and listened to them talk. They're discussions were more along the line of gambling, not quite like what our discussions were about back in Brooklyn, but soon they tripped into the territory of the gang fights in our neck of the woods.

"So goils, we need the inside scoop. What the hell is goin on ovah there that made Strike send ya heah?" This was Race speaking, the short little Italian gambler that probably wouldn't grow to be much taller. 

"What's theah to tell? We'se got a gang on our tail that won't leave us alone. They're beatin the shit out of our guys and we can't seem to get rid of em. And Strike won't let us fight like we should. He thinks its too dangerous fer us goils to be theah. So hes sent us heah." Luna really wanted to fight, but she was also a little bitter, like some of the Brooklyn newsies, about the fact that Manhattan wasn't helping us get rid of the gang. 

We continued to talk about that situation, some of the boys saying they'd help if it got worse, but right now Trick didn't want any unnecessary trouble. Which was reasonable I suppose, but some of our best fighters had gone down. They would fight again, but Strike needed them now. Needles had gotten a nasty blow to the head that has had him in bed for the past week and Joker and Flash are still on the road to recovery. Joker won't be in shape to help out much, since he's got some broken bones but he's been keeping everyone's spirits up with jokes and stories. 

The night was coming to an end and Luna, Voodoo and I headed over to the girls lodging house across the street. It was filled with girls, many more than Brooklyn had gotten. Girls of all ages, in as rugged shape as some of the guys, crowded the banisters ready to make their way upstairs. But once we walked in they wanted to hear all about the fights and what they were like. In all reality, these girls were just as much girly girls at heart as they were trying to be boys in this business. They sat eagerly around us as we each told our stories of what it was like living in fear of our lives. It reminded me of my childhood girl friends at home in Ireland. We'd spend nights talking about the boys in our town and which we thought we would end up marrying, or what the latest gossip was. 

Soon they got tired of it, and the woman named Julie came over to us. "Well welcome to Manhattan's only goils lodging house! My names Julie, but when I was a newsie dey all called me Pheonix. So call me Nixy please! Now I'll need yer names, yer ages and some wages fer me bunks." She wrote down our information and took our money and lead us upstairs to one of the bunk rooms. There were 3, mostly full except for the last one. The rooms were like the ones in Brooklyn, only slightly smaller. It was in better shape however. At home, the bunk rooms' windows were full of cracks and the pipes leaked, so not only would you freeze during the winter time, but you would be wet as well if someone decided to wash their faces during the middle of the night, sending water through the pipes over the sleeping boys heads. 

Not only was our house old and diminishing, the girls also lived with the boys. The girls were somewhat down the hall but since there were only four of us, we had the room to ourselves, but that would soon change if any more boys joined up. The boys rooms were full, overly so, but not enough extras were around to open up a new lodging house, so the beds in our room would be filled by boys. The other girl named Clover lived there sporadically but I think she quit a couple weeks ago when the fighting got too much for her. I usually didn't stay the night at the lodging house, but the past month with the fighting as bad as its been, I've been forced to spend some nights curled up under thin sheets hoping my jacket would keep me from freezing over the night. We took sheets off the other beds just to keep warm, and stole towels from the boys bathroom. The boys were freezing also, but they had more body weight on them, unlike us girls who were very thin. I wasn't as thin as Voodoo or Luna, but that was because I had homecooked meals at home most nights. 

I took the bunk underneath another girl with red hair, and as soon as I sat down, the girl leaned her head over. "Hi! I'se Firecracker, you are Shasta huh?Brooklyn must be so exciting right now! Fighting and all that shit! You should be fighting!" Man could she talk a lot. "Why ain't you fightin? Goils should fight, dats what I say."

"Shut up Fire, leave the poor girl alone. She's been forced out of her own home, and she didn't come heah to have you remind her she can't be dere." Another girl from a few bunks down called out. Fire just pouted.

"I was jus bein friendly is all." She rolled over on her side so I couldn't see her anymore but I still spoke to her.

"It's alright Firecracker, I don't mind. Strike won't let us fight, that's why me, Luna and Voodoo are here." The bed groaned above me and her head popped back over the side, a crooked smile on her face. She was younger than me I supposed, and probably as fiery as her name and hair suggested. 

"If I was you'se I woulda fought Strike to lemme fight!" She lied back down so I couldn't see her face. The younger newsies I have found, especially in Manhattan, seem to think fighting is just for fun. Sure in Brooklyn, before the gang fights, boys like Dash or Needles lived for the fight. Now that the fighting was getting pretty serious and it wasn't a joking matter anymore and even the best fighters didn't want to fight anymore. 

Strike once told a bunch of us on one of our last meetings on top of the roof under the stars before the snow came, that when we got older we'd understand that fighting wasn't worth it, that it caused more problems than solved them. When we got older we'd understand that life is worth more than a few bloody knuckles.


End file.
